


Blood and Snow

by AndInThoseMoments



Series: Trust and Teamwork [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, One Shot, Protective Phil Coulson, Smart Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndInThoseMoments/pseuds/AndInThoseMoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infamous Black Widow has been on SHIELD's radar for a long time, but when Clint finally gets a chance to take her out, he begins to realise that they are there on her own terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the ever patient ShadowHaloedAngel.
> 
> This is the first one for a new series I'm working on, and I'm very much looking forwards to writing more of it. This particular chapter is gen, but there is a background relationship between Clint and Coulson (which isn't mentioned, but will become relevant next chapter).
> 
> Written for the prompt: "One shot".

"Can I request we go somewhere warmer next time?" Clint muttered into the comm, shivering against the biting wind. He wasn't going to move away from where he was positioned, or let go of the bow he was holding at full draw, but he could still bitch over the comm line.

"I know Barton." Coulson's voice was soft and patient, and he didn't criticise. He was cold as well from his own vantage point. He had a thick coat wrapped around him and his breath was escaping in misty puffs. "Unfortunately, this is where the target is, so this is where we're working."

"We could have sent her a plane ticket?" Clint suggested hopefully, knowing it was a dead end but still happy to attempt to fix the situation. Talking to Coulson helped him to stay focused and to ignore the way the chill was sinking deep into his flesh. 

"I don't think she'd have used it." He replied, a little exasperated. "Any sign of her?"  
"There isn't yet." Clint whined. "Can't we ask her to come here?"  
"I think that would probably have less success than the plane ticket. Put that bow down and do some stretches."

Clint snorted, but did what he was told to, stretching out his arms and easing the blood back into the tips of his fingers, hissing a little. He gripped his bow once more as he heard the faintest creak behind him. He spun around.

At first, he thought there was nothing there. A moment later, he saw a single sheet of paper in the snow.  
Glancing around in case this was a trap, he bent his knees, leaning down and picking it up. He opened it. Written there, in an elegant feminine hand was a single word.  
"Leave".

He stared at it for a moment.  
"Barton, you okay there?"  
"I'm... Coulson, a note just appeared by my foot. It just says leave."  
"Did she throw it?"  
"I don't think so. I think she put it there."

Coulson took a steadying breath.  
"Alright, Barton, get up... that tree you were considering as a viewpoint earlier, get up it. That way, we can make sure that she won't be able to creep up behind you."  
"Yes sir." Clint didn't need telling twice, throwing his bow onto his shoulder and scampering up onto the lower branches. He didn't like this. 

The person they were hunting had been born for this, had grown up in these frozen wastelands. Clint relied on cities, and even though he was tough he preferred the temperature a little warmer than it was here. She held all the advantages.

Clint shook his head. Not all of them. He had Coulson, and she had no one at all.

He drew his bow back again.  
"Into position."  
"Good, keep looking."  
"I'm looking." Clint promised, his eyes scanning through the woodland.

A moment later, a woman stepped forwards into the clearing before him. She appeared to be a couple of years younger than Clint, with long red hair, and warm black clothes wrapped around her form. She was holding a gun out ahead of her, a frown on her face, and she wasn't trying to hide. Clint was convinced of that. If she had wanted to escape, she wouldn't have done that. She’d made herself exposed, visible. She was making herself an easy target.

"Put the gun down!" He shouted, and she twisted, pointing the gun towards him.

Clint didn't like looking down the barrel of guns. It was too likely to lead to long trips to medical. She was a threat, and he had his orders.

But she wasn't shooting.  
"Coulson, I'm calling it." He muttered, as he released an arrow, hissing a moment later as it hit its target dead on.

The woman crumpled to the floor, red blood staining the snow around, her arm held to her chest, the gun lying beside her. She reached out with her other hand, but before she could seize the weapon Clint shot the metal with an acid arrow, dissolving it before her gloved fingertips.  
"What's happening Barton?" Coulson called. He'd seen it, but he needed confirmation from someone with a better view.  
"The Widow is injured and her primary weapon has been disabled. She probably has further weaponry, but at the moment she isn't going to attack."  
"Do I dare to ask why?" Coulson asked, sounding a little exasperated.

"Because she wasn't trying to attack me. She wasn't giving up, but she wasn't a threat. She could have killed me, but she dropped that note instead. I think... I think she needs a chance. You gave me one."  
"You made the right call." Coulson reassured him after another slow sigh. "Now, get down, arrow on her, and I'll be there as soon as I can be."

Clint dropped from the tree, aiming an arrow at her and waiting for Coulson to arrive. Once he took over, training a gun on her, he was able to crouch down, slipping knives from her shoes and side, and removing guns from holsters on her legs and under her arm. It might not have been all of the weapons, but she was disarmed enough for him to examine her arm.

"The wound is fairly deep, but nothing major got hit..." He explained, as he disconnected the head from the arrow and guided the shaft out, then pressed absorbent material over the wound, bandaging over it.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her accent thick in her voice. Clint knew that she was putting it on - she could pass as a native born American, but for now she was still trying to play the role of an enemy.  
"Bandaging you."  
"I won't talk. It doesn't matter what you do to me, I won't tell you what I know." She answered, and there was a certainty in her voice. Clint knew enough of her past to know that it wasn't bravado or naivety, but instead experience. He wondered if he'd made the right call. When he'd chosen to spare her, he hadn't thought of what might happen after.

"Actually." Coulson interrupted her. "I wasn't expecting you to do much of the talking. We know who you are Romanova. We know what you've done, and what was done to you. We know how many times your masters have deserted you because of an inconvenience, the number of missions you've managed to complete despite poor intelligence and betrayal. We also know that you've chosen to run from them and attempt independence."

Her eyes blazed fiercely.  
"I made the right decision." She answered coldly. "I am not afraid of some SHIELD men..." Her gaze lingered on the insignia on Clint's shoulder.  
"Perhaps. You chose the best option of those available. And I'm offering a new option. Come and work for us. We will put your skills to good use, and let you pick your missions. Your time won't be wasted, and you will be doing good."  
"Or I die?" She asked, her wounded arm held to her chest still. She didn't sound afraid, just accepting.

Coulson nodded.  
"Or you die. But you are a master of escaping Natalia, I know that. You come in, and we both know you may well manage to slip away. So all we're asking is that you agree to work with us for now. If you try and run later, we will aim to kill you, but that's no worse than the situation you are in at the moment. Or you are executed."

She nodded slowly, holding up her uninjured hand to shake his.  
"Call me Natasha."

The journey back was beyond stressful, with Natasha nursing her wounds and Coulson supervising her. Clint flew, and once they were back, Natasha was taken under armed guard to a holding cell in medical whilst Coulson went into meetings to try and explain what had happened.

Clint clambered into the vents, sneaking along until he found himself above Natasha's cell. He opened the grate and climbed down, dropping to the ground in front of her bed. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"What are you doing?"  
"I could say I'm keeping an eye on you, but..." He gestured up to the security cameras. "I just wanted to say hi. And, uh, thank you for not shooting me when you left the note."  
She nodded once.  
"It wouldn't have achieved what I wanted to gain." She explained, and Clint nodded.

He hadn't been through what she had, but he understood what it was like to persuade yourself that every action you made had to be evaluated, to lose sight of how to relax or have fun. He'd felt like that as a child, in the circus, and when he had first joined SHIELD. Now though, he felt calmer, and he hoped that he could teach her that.

"What was it that you wanted to gain?"  
"I was trying to switch sides. I was not achieving what I wanted with Red Room, and disagreed with their methods and actions. That's why I left. Then I saw an opportunity, and I took it."

Clint nodded, holding out his hand and smiling at her as he realised she had been hoping he wouldn’t shoot her.  
"Well I'm Clint. And you'll have to have a fuckton of psych tests and interviews, and maybe a little bit of field training, but... I'm looking forwards to working with you."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything against him as her hand shook his.


End file.
